


Corrupt

by Sinsrose



Category: Naruto
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mental Instability, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Terminal Illnesses, Underage Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-05 00:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinsrose/pseuds/Sinsrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles based around Lily's artwork, mostly about the Uchiha's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s the everlasting silence that seems to drive them into a never-ceasing madness. Fingers curled around a slim waist, one that has been though hell and high water just to keep the other living. The fingers almost seem skeletal and boney, A muted heliotrope color that stretches across the knuckles, the faded coloring of bruises, the marks upon the flesh. 

 

Bare skin of the collarbone exposed across the cold air. Raven strands falling across the flesh draped over the soft material of the fishnet shirt. His fingers are spasming beyond his control, twitching from the pain flashing across his inner eyelids. The vermillion color leaking from the comer of his eyes dripping, polling as it slides across the skin. The steady drips as it splashes across the inner palm of his hand.

 

Looking like small colored spatters of snow almost across the tanned flesh in which the scarlet liquid seems to stick out upon. His mouth open, making this borderline moaning noise from the pain awakened from his eyes. He can feel the calloused grip, that keeps the light from hitting them, keeps them in the oblivion to try to dim the pain. 

 

His own hand wanting to rip his hair out from the pain. Despite what he has felt before, this feels like an agony on his body. There’s another moaning noise- that escapes his parted lips. He sees white behind his closed eyes. He can hardly think at this point, he can’t process that pain. Every-time the pain in his eyes comes around he stops thinking. The pain in his head makes everything ring, and the slightest light hurt his eyes. 

 

The albicant light seems smoldering across his eyes. It’s like a fire eating at them. He wants to cry out, and scream or even shriek at the top of his lungs but instead he lets out these low degrading moans of pain, that seem everlasting. Blood pooling in his open hand. His words not making any sense that do escape his tongue and lips. 

 

He tries to catch his breath, lungs feeling as if they are being burned. The sharp pain in them sempiternal, despite the medications he’s taken for his illness that will win sooner or later. His words fragmented and broken Japanese being spat and muttered between whimpers. “Please, I-” It’s choked and broken as if he’s trying to speak English. 

 

Raven hair thick, covering deep cinnabar eyes, stare at the mere child that is almost shrieking from the pain. His fingers digging almost into the flesh of his wrist almost making moon shaped bruises in them, by how hard he’s gripping his wrist. “Shh.” He mutters,soft into the ear of the young Uchiha almost like a cooing mother. 

 

Almost, but without the caring affection of one. “It’s almost over.” There’s a pause in his voice, almost sounding like near amusement, borderline pleasured from the other suffering.There’s a moment where Itachi goes slack in the hold. A brief second where the pain stops and he can breathe without feeling like there’s acid in his throat. A moment where his eyes aren’t given him a migraine that leaves him feeling like he wants to collapse on the spot. 

 

Tremors are ranking though him. After-effects of the seeing pain. Itachi opens his eyes for a moment seeing the tanned flesh of his hand. Blackness to his eyes that are failing with his vision, it’s evident in them. His free hand moves to cast Madara’s hand away from his eyes. Blood seeping from them still dripping from his face. 

 

There aren’t words that either of them say. They don’t speak of this. They don’t mention each other’s pain. Itachi never acts like this ever happens, he hides it. Pretends that he doesn’t feel anything, but at heart he has a weight that is unbearable on his heart. The twisted lies that he casted upon his younger sibling at such a young age.

 

There’s nothing said as the elder Uchiha brushes a strand of hair from Itachi’s face moving it away. Brushing his own dark locks from his eyes to look at the child, parting his lips for a moment almost to speak but he stops midway changing his thought.

 

  “It would be wise to sleep, child.” 

Nothing more is said as hair falls back across the elder’s eyes turning to walk away. Not uttering another word to him, a fleeting moment of emotion as his fingers meet the other’s as his hand slips away from his wrist, and Madara retreats to his own corridor leaving the Uchiha standing looking as if he had cried bloody tears.   



	2. Corrupt [Part 1]

[ _I could corrupt you, it’d be easy.] [Inspired off of[ this](http://youtu.be/gwcdsIUfMag)] _

 

Dysphoira. 

 

It’s the best way to describe it when it first happens. The feeling that seems to resonate though their bones, that curls under the skin. It makes the hair on him stand out on end, feeling the calloused fingers touch to the flesh of his face. It’s unsettling the touch, it’s one he hasn’t felt in years.   


 

It’s been years, since he’s been touched upon by someone that wasn’t Shisui. His skin feels like it’s crawling, even though he has a stoic stare at the elder male. His flesh wants to squirm or pull away from the chilling touch that seems to flare a fire across his skin. 

 

Scarlett eyes mirrors scaring back at one another. He can see the curious look in the elder, the almost taunting look at him, thier eyes seem frozen at they look at one another. Thumb slowly moving back and forth across the skin of his lip, that’s a faint pink and parted ever so slightly. The slight chill of air hitting across the fingertips. 

 

The roughened skin holding the side of the other’s face as if cradling it. He hasn’t moved since the other began to touch his skin, the touch foreign, but also not. The advances like this haven’t been made on him since he was a child. 

 

Advances that had left his mind reeling, and he had repressed things. Certain matters, that no one had known about, but _him_.  

 

Madara had this way of being sly and playing things off. Even in a discord, or paradox. He was always one step ahead of the younger Uchiha, and well there wasn’t anything to be said about that. The mere fact that he could smell him by how close he was to him was unsettling him..

 

It made a knot twist into his stomach, but Itachi never once cried out for help. He never once spoke about these matters or even spoke words about these types of matters. It was an unspoken agreement, and he hadn’t seeked physical contact in years due to this. There was a fear that seemed to flicker in his eyes if you looked hard enough.

 

If you looked. The only one that had been able to touch Itachi without the unease had been his brother, but none the less times had changed. The comfort wasn’t an option anymore. Not at least in these matters. Madara none the less stared on at the child, his eyes seeming to try to stare into his soul.

 

There was a small swallow from his throat, as his own cinnabar eyes met the others back. Madara’s hand slipped from his cheek, movements almost seeming light. Seeming almost soft for the male, who lacked any care or even concern for the younger of the two.  

 

The game he was playing, was _corrupt._ He knew this, his heart knew this by all means. Madara was perhaps the one person that could undo Itachi’s mind and soul in one breath if he wanted to. If he craved to, he could do _it_. As much as Madara had been a savior he had also been Itachi’s twisted shadow.

 

“Is this what you wanted from _him?_ Seeing him quake in fear yet morbid curiosity as he stands before you?” The tongue that lets those words escape is one that is of rancid poison. The words are executed and fluid, not even so much as a flinch as he says them. 

 

He drags his fingernails down the exposed flesh that is his neck for a mere moment. Itachi says nothing his lips moving to closed line. He doesn’t dare move let alone speak right now, but he can feel the inner core of his body reacting, the movements that are drawing upon the heat. One that he’s learned to keep shut, to isolate and ignore. 

 

"You yearn for the affections that you once had as a child. It’s no secret." The words strike across his mind like a burn. A wound to his pride, he knows what the other is talking about. He means Sasuke. He means he longs for his adoring little brother, he yearns for the touches he can never have. Perhaps if they had been born in another life-

 

Pain. White hot sparks though his skin. Teeth perched upon the skin. Digging into the flesh, drawing blood trails to the side of his neck. He stiffens as he feels Madara’s other hand, press a hand over his hip. Fingernails digging into the flesh that a milky white color.  Lips pulls away from the marred skin, eyes staring back into his soul.

“We’ll have to fix that problem won’t we? Forget about those foolish little affections.”   



	3. Chapter 3

 

[Based off[ this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zP_ZAczJwmQ)]

 

It’s not that he cares. It’s not even like he should care. Yet he finds himself wasting his breathing bringing the kid out of the village. In his defense, he really shouldn’t care about him at all. He doesn’t need such _attachments._ He does need someone to fall back and rely on. All that leads to is pain in his eyes, he learned the hard way eons ago.  

 

Madara’s heart doesn’t exist anymore. It was gone ages ago. It was lost ages ago, and yet why is he drawn to the child. Why does he even bother to bring him away from this place and let him be able to breathe and try to compose himself? The question even Madara doesn’t seem to know the answer to. He finds himself doing it. Grabbing the child’s forearm into roughened fingers clutching tight. 

 

He can see the child’s tears. But his hand merely goes to grip the teen in a bruises grip on his forearm. What was in the past doesn’t matter anymore. The child’s past is no longer his life. It’s no longer who he is. It’s no longer of use. The child he once was isn’t there anymore. His fingers dig into Itachi’s forearm deeper as if to tear him from crying.

 

“Control your emotions child.” 

 

Yes, he’s a child in his eyes. He knows so little. So very little. So little. He lacks understanding of things, some things at least, though Itachi may be a bright and smart child he lacks understanding of some subjects. Itachi seems to stiffen at the tighter grip that’s thrown upon him.Madara’s nails beginning to leave crescent moon shaped marks on his skin. 

 

One of the younger Uchiha’s hands goes to wipe at the tears that are leaking from his eyes. His darkened locks hiding one of the tear stained eyes of a child. The burden is one that will not be forgotten by him. He cannot forgot it, what he has done. Even being so calm, putting on that facade, even past that he’s still a shell of who he once was.

 

Itachi almost seems to cling at the pain in a sense. It gives him something to struggle and latch onto, something that keeps him alive or makes him want to struggle though each day. Madara pauses for a moment as Itachi sniffs again, his emotions clearly evident getting the better of the boy.  

 

"Control yourself."

 

It’s a bitter barked out order. A lack of emotion in his tone. The grip on the teen now bruising. Madara can see the flesh that pans out to a purple color under his hand that is griping his forearm. His mouth leans over to the shell of the other’s ear. 

 

"Forget him, the moment you stuck your sword though thier throats, you lost  _him._ " 

 

Madara’s words are nothing but cruel to the child. Nothing but harsh whispers. He’s not going to sugarcoat things, he’s not going to tell him that things are alright. No, he knows this boy is smarter than that. He can hear the pathetic noise from the child, the sound of cut of and refrained sobs almost. 

 

"He will hate you. Detest you." 

 

The words are a murmur across the ear. He can feel the boy shift his gaze towards him. The seething emotion beneath the pain that is riddled across his eyes. He can feel the dislike towards him, it is evident that much from the boy. Itachi’s other hand goes to pull at his that’s holding his forearm. 

 

Madara’s fingers dig deeper drawing small welts.

 

                                            “I only speak the truth.  _Itachi_.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Itachi's death

Art Source: Lily 

        Writing is my own. 

There’s a stilled silence that seems to seem endless. One that seems to stretch upon the quiet of the room and seem endless. What might however get someone’s attention is the man curled clutching himself like a broken child. The raven locks hanging over his face, and draped over the bare skin of his back. His hands curled around his knees clutching it as hard as they can. 

The sight of blood perhaps even evident under the skin, or even crescents in the areas he’s touched. He’s shaking, more or less and trembling, his legs curled up by his chest. He’s bare of any clothing, any hair, not a drop on his body but the hair upon his head. His lips trying to keep the sounds from escaping him, almost a sob breaching past his lips. 

Madara is wrecked with another tremble, one that seems to be endless in his frame. His legs crossed over one another to try to calm himself. Fingers biting into the flesh almost as he’s trying to self-inflict himself. He’s been like this for a few hours, curled valuable in this state in more than one reason. He’s naked, lacking anything, an there’s vivid emotions that are raging though him.

Emotions that perhaps have not wrecked him since Izuna’s death. He’s a collected person even when violent and insane, he’s collected and never lets a strong emotion like this leak though. He swallows almost numbly trying to not sob. Clutching his white skin hard, feeling his nails dig into it enough to leave marks. It’s not enough. 

_How foolish had he been? How foolish had he been? He had let someone see a side of him that he knew would be toxic to himself._ Madara had let someone under his walls after decades of being alone and he had chose a dying man at that. Though the patterns in which it happened were corrupted as he noticed, he still couldn’t detach the emotion that the prodigy had let him _feel_. 

The mental ache had felt like a backlash of a ripped open wound, in the deepest part of him. Madara was unable to even speak at this point. His mind shrouded in the memories of the later. He had known this day was coming, he had sensed it. He has known that it was going to befall them both. It was a matter of time. Fate was a matter of time, but that didn’t mean he was going to remain as composed as he said he would. 

He had grown too attached. Much too attached, to the point where his old self, the caring elder brother had emerged for brief periods of time around the prodigy. The side that had been softer in nature even after the hell he had put him though. He choked, a low whimper of a noise escaping his lips. 

The bare emotions that had escaped into his mind hitting him.  The grief that had escaped into him was one that was abnormal for him. It made him clutch his own body tighter, almost afraid of the onslaught of emotion. His body curling tighter on himself. He tried to breath without wheezing or the sharp intake of breath. 

_How had he fallen this low? Why had he let the child get under his rock hard skin? Why did he let this happen to himself again? He had swore after Izuna, no one ever would get close to him and understand him again._ The cracks of his mind had caused him weakness, a weakness that had become know upon the mere concern he had suffered though during the contact he had kept with the young Uchiha. 

His composure was starting to crack. More and more, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be able to walk out of this without anything felt. This had been his cycle, not the others. This had been his game not Itachi’s. This had been his corrupt doing, and yet here he was feeling as if someone had squeezed at his heart.  

How trivial it had been. It had been useless to fight the emotions. Even as much as he did, he could feel his heart bleeding beneath the surface. A broken noise escaped his throat, one that was pathetic of nature coming from a man that was so corrupted by power and taint. It sounded almost unreal. It didn’t feel real. 

His eyes had an evident lack of sleep. The shadows under them, apparent and showing. Madara hadn’t slept in four days. The exhaustion was in soul, mind and body. The display of emotions he had right now, was ripping him apart in ways he hadn’t thought imaginable. He clutched himself tighter, trying to choke back the sobs, and the tears that were threatening to escape him. He tried to focus himself on something anything.  But alas he failed.

He failed.Once more. The purpose had been failed, the weight of it sinking in. _Attachments lead to no good purpose. None at all, caring leads to weakness, weakness I cannot afford any longer._ He gritted his teeth slightly feeling another tremor in his body. A noise that sounded like a sob this time did escape his lips. 

Tears. Where not evident until he felt the wet water come across his face. The liquid that seemed inhuman for him to even process let alone fear. _What have I been reduced to? Crying over a child, that was no burden that I caused._ He swallowed his tongue it seemed, the small noises escaping his lips. He didn’t bother to move, from how he was curled on himself in the motel room.  

He was crying over _him. **God damn him if there was** **one**_. Madara was falling apart at the seams, showing things that no one would ever see. No one would ever know. He had gotten too close to the boy, perhaps in his own twisted way cared a bit too much. He exhaled a breath that was a choked noise.  

The prodigy whether he knew it or not had twisted his way inside his heart. It had been a flaw to even care about the other. Weakness, one that should have never happened. One that never should have existed. One that should have remained dead. Madara rests his head on his knee, feeling the hot tears. 

_What a petty existence I have become._ Closing his eyes, he sucked in another breath. Afraid to even think of anymore on the matter. _Ashes to ashes and dust to dust._ __It’s a curious, thing, life. ‘We almost always question our existence, then again. The only thing from keeping me from slipping into more madness, is you..’_ _

**_ "After all, you have lasted a time that is beyond fathoming with no one to aid you but yourself. You give yourself far too little credit.” _ **

He had been wrong, he had only survived because he indulged in a darker path that the child had let him do so saving what was left of him. He had seen himself in the young prodigy in a sense the other couldn’t even imagine, and Izuna. Madara had lost what was left of himself, the moment he had slipped away into the land that was the dead. He tried not to think, but it was impossible, he given into someone for the last time. The emotional attachment to anything had died, had left him, as he knew the other was heading to a sealed fate.

His crying was the leftover pent up emotions, that had been shown only to the Uchiha. The only one that would ever know that side of the former head of the Uchiha clan. The burden lay upon him, to slain it, and erase him from his mind. But Madara was finding it difficult considering he had spent such a long period with the young prodigy. 

_"I failed.."_ There was nothing left but ashes of despair that remained, and a greater self-loathing of himself. A greater one, that vowed he’d never voice human emotion again, not at this cost. Not at the cost that was wrecking his body, making him unable to sleep, and making him this pitiful wreck of a being. 

Unknown to anyone, that night the Uchiha cried himself into a slumber that lasted for days. And when he did awaken there was nothing left but red eyes, that had a purpose. And a heart that no longer served a use except living. He had cast away the remains of what was left of humanity and forgotten them, burying them deep inside his heart, to never let out of the chains that bonded them inside the shadows. 

These were the ashes of despair.  



	5. Chapter 5

There’s a silence that seems to cast into days though it’s mere seconds and moments. It stretches and it seems almost defining to the one whom is standing there. The piter patters of rain strikes across the ground, the downpour making the quiet seem loud. Standing there obscured under the rain and soaked to the bone in a man. Some would call him that, but to the eyes of a mother he is nothing more than a child thrown into the fragments of war.

Raven strand that part over a face that has the eyes of a man in war but is supposed to be an ignorant child.  He’s seen much in his life; he’s seen things that perhaps that he wishes he never did. That he wanted to never have seen. There’s a dulling silence, and a numbness that fills him as he stands at the river. The cold seeping through his clothes and onto his skin, as he kneels there hunched over.

There are no words, none that describe the dysphoria, and dwale that he has been doing since it happened. Exactly what happened he will never be able to grip, nor will he ever be able to speak of right again. The sempiternal pain that is cast into his heart and the shadows that seems to grip and squeeze it with every passing moment. Riddled with the facts of his heart, as his mind tries to push it away and cast it under the pool that is consuming his being. He’s haunted by the mere death.  

The water that seems like a grave. His eyes black as night leaking what seem to be tears, one can never be quite sure. He’s curled by the riverside, hidden out of view, his entire frame shaking it seems, face hidden as much as it can by curling up almost on the dirt. Not caring about the grim or an inch of it that seems to be brought upon him. He can’t forget.

No, he’d never forget what happened. The eyes that now bleed, because of the events that occurred this day. He won’t forget it till the day he dies, there’s a shaking in his frame as he chokes. Feeling a quiet sob raise from his lips despite fighting it for these last fear months after the other had passed. The choking feeling is suffocating across his mind. It’s like being pulled under the water even though he isn’t, it’s like someone has pulled him under and left him there.

The grief that is in his features is evident, even though he said he’d get over _this._ All he wants to do is stop fighting, but he knows that he must live on. He must survive even though this. Though it all, he needs to get though the darkness that tries to shroud his heart. He chokes on a cry curling tighter by the river trembling and shaking. He’s trying to not make a noise, trying not to choke on the cries that seem to pour out of him. The wound aching so much, there isn’t anything that can be _done_ to fix _this_.

His fingers bite into his palms, sharp pain as he curls against himself by the river. He’s curled by it because it’s the only thing that seems to make him remember his sense of clarity but at the same time it drags him under. He wants to escape from it all, the agony in his heart. He would shove it under, somewhere in the back of his mind if he could.

But he _can’t_.

                He can’t. He made a promise that he needs to keep. He’s been haunted by it. It’s painful, but his burden to bear, the weight in which he is held to together even as he cries. Cries of a loss of a loved one that couldn’t be avoided. The loss of his best friend, and his cousin. Someone that knew how he felt, that he could actually feel at ease about, and knew the position he was in. He struggles to get ahold of himself as he sits up by the river drenched in the rain. You cannot even tell that he was crying. It looks like the rain had just fallen upon him. It’s a weakness to care at times, but it doesn’t matter to the young Prodigy that seems to have his heart ripped out. 

_I wish, that this had not been casted upon either of us._

It’s the remaining thought left in him, as he lets go of his grief never to cry real tears like this again. Only the next time they will remain as blood, and nothing more. Just _blood_ with nothing left of _feeling_ inside of him.


	6. ηιﻭнтмαяєѕ

The small frame of a timid child curling against him, is one that is familiar.  Though he may be older than him only by a few years, the mindset he has is one that is mature for his age. His fingers seem to curl around the other, unconsciously almost protective of him, ever since their shared meeting of introducing themselves to one another in the rubble that day.  

The prodigy is asleep for now, rave hair casted over a tiny face, one that has seen the gore and carnage of war but remains innocent for now. Untainted for a short period of time. The boy is breathing soft, curled aganist his cousin in his sleep unconsciously, he doesn’t even know that he had fallen asleep around Shisui. He’s still young enough that he really doesn’t care either. 

The serenity of the moment is one that Shisui tucks away into his memory, looking back on it in later moments. This is perhaps the one few times in the prodigy’s life at least that he’ll be at ease like this, one of the few brief moments like this. Shisui tucks a strand of his cousin’s hair behind his hair watching the boy sleep. He’s almost protective of him despite how young they are. 

The circumstances have made the pair of them close in times of war. There’s a moment longer with the longing moment, before Shisui moves upon hearing his name be called by someone, leaving the boy to sleep. He remains in a peaceful sleep undisturbed by nightmares. 

~ 

The years that follow, change the child. He grows into an intelligent boy, people seeming to think he’s ignorant when he’s really not. By the time he’s thirteen his life has been casted into something that is impossible to forget. There’s no escaping his fate, his mind always weighted by the stress and pressure.  

There’s only brief middle ground in-between moments that are hellish on his body. Moments were he loses himself, and forgets the clan- the village everything that he’s been struggling for. Moments in which he’s lying on his side, Shisui’s fingers touching over the delicate flesh on his arm in almost a soothing matter. There’s only brief small moments like this when they both are back from missions.  

They don’t talk, it’s simpler that way. There’s no weight when they don’t talk. Shisui’s fingers sweeping over the skin in delicate motions, that make the younger Uchiha exhale a soft breath, the touches so tender across his skin. Unlike the matters of mind that sometimes make him want to breakdown for hours on end. 

If fate would have it, he would rest in Shisui’s arms, just forgetting about the world. The fingers sweep across the skin, dipping over his skin on his arms, the flesh of his neck pausing to touch over cheekbones in a sweeping movement. The movement is so simple, yet means so much to them that is unspoken. It’s their secret place, being wrapped up like this in one another’s arms. Shisui’s darkened curled locks hang over his face, framing the boyish face, that is smiling at the small twitches that Itachi seems to give at the small touches.

Itachi seems to curl around Shisui in an unspoken agreement. Shisui is the only one that has seen him at his weakest points, the only one that he’s let in this far beneath the surface. Shisui’s fingers touching over skin, being so gentle, he’s been the only one after all this time that has been able to touch Itachi because he’s known him for so long. Because of the bond that neither one of them can described but has been fated between them.  

There’s a small brushing of lips across a forehead, almost delicate in touch. The gentle caring of almost it seems of a mother to it’s child, or perhaps even a lover. The bond that binds them is one that is a yuanfen, a bond that is made by the fate in which they were casted into, the gears of war in which they were brought together but also will tear them apart. Those days are fast approaching, and Itachi won’t let those mere facts bother him or tries not to and tries to find comfort in the remaining days.

Itachi’s eyes flutter closed, listening to the thump of the heartbeat. The familiar heartbeat that he’s known ever since he was a child. The heavy weight of it, the beat that seems to set his soul ablaze with emotions he shouldn’t yearn for in this time and place, but then again destiny was never a kind soul to the prodigy.  

His breathing calms as he’s lulled into a calmed state. By the tender touches upon his skin, warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach, that is familiar, but he chooses to ignore.Instead he curls around the touches, letting the memory stay in his mind, as a happier moment. One he can look back on later days. Shisui doesn’t mind, he just touches his lips to the younger Uchiha’s head briefly soothing the other into a state of sleep. Keeping him close for the longest time. 

~ 

Breath comes out in a rasp. Eyes wake, body in a cold sweat frozen from the nightmare. The memory etched into his skin from the dream, the vivid dream that haunts him. Memories from the past that haunt his mind. Lying across a cheap motel bed, trying to wake up his body that doesn’t want to move. He closes his eyes again trying to block out the memories behind his eyes.  He gasps out a name- a name that he used to cling to, his fingers digging into the sheets trying to calm the tremors that are moving though him. He’s curled around himself, in the sheets trembling ever so slightly. 

He’s alone.Utterly alone. 

The warmth that he was had gone. Not forgotten but just _gone._ Only left is the memory, the memory of being held. Of being safe- and god does he miss it. The simple moments that had felt like so long ago but seemed to last a lifetime. Itachi curls almost up in the sheets. This is the first nightmare that he has had in years- and god he needs, he needs him. He’s weak in this moment, this moment of time, but only right now. 

_"Shisui!"_

He chokes out, but no one answers, he’s curled around himself. The other has been long gone for years, drowned by the river. After making Itachi promise things, that Itachi would never go against it is his burden to bear but it makes him stronger. Even if it hurts. He curls around himself wishing for the warmth of a man that used to be his best friend, lover and was his _cousin_.


	7. Chapter 7

The air is past twilight well into the night. The remains of the sunset that was drenched in soft colors such as purples, pinks and oranges that cascaded the world with a light once are gone, fading as the sun slips below the horizon. The soft colors melting into a twilight, that is blackened skies. Dark blues blanketed by small dots of light that are the balls of gas burning above in the distance far away. Shining giving beauty to the otherwise quiet night by lighting the sky in an illumination.

It’s such simplicity, the eve of starlight overhead. The touch of summer heat that bathes the air amidst the starlight, drenching the people in an almost warm heat but it’s not overbearing. Hair slightly sticking to one’s forehead or clothing is clinging from their cotton or silk fibers from the slight heat in the air from the hotter months.

The Naka River flowing in a gush in the background and the clear waters are flowing past a bend, and over a cliff side, the familiar noise and rumble from the river soothing to ones ears. The rampant waters that flow not harsh but almost soft but to a child it would sweep them under into the depths if they weren’t careful. Soft laughter can be heard being exchanged between two people by the waters depths on this summer’s night.

Boyish curls are hanging over a face who is laughing, seeming much more childish than his actual age. Animated movements as he laughs, a small smile is stretching over his lips for mere moments at a time. His eyes are flickering upon that of his cousin whom is deemed the source of the laughter. His body seems to heave over from laughing so hard at him. 

Prodigy some may call him, is drenched, in the river, soaked to the bone. He cannot even fathom in the first place how he ended up in the river at this point. He just knows, he’s a little cold now, and soaked, and his cousin thinks it’s the most comical thing in the world. He presses his fingers to his hair, tugging the wet strands away from his face, pursing his lips slightly. Almost –

_Is he actually pouting?_

The laughter stops from the other for mere moments as he sees the expression upon the tinier built male. Well tinier to a point, just because he looks tiny doesn’t mean it makes him a _chick_. His mind corrects him, some of the disagreements he’s heard well- that can be saved for another time, and those don’t matter.  All he can remember vaguely is someone getting punched for mistaking his younger cousin for a _chick_.

Back to the current train of thought though, his cousin is _pouting, pouting._  Uchihas don’t pout, they don’t do anything of that _nature_ but here he is witnessing that from his soaked cousin.  “Don’t you dare blame this on me.” The words are soft spoken towards him, light and airy. It’s evident that he’s so carefree around him. The burden of the shinobi world forgotten for the brief gap in time. The few days that they have with one another, they spend it like this, laughing at such childish things.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop the boy from pouting in the river. He hasn’t bothered to get up, well not yet. He’s waiting for his cousin to get closer. Shisui is still laughing despite the pout written across the young Uchiha’s face. “Oh come on, Itachi. You know I hadn’t meant to do that.” He extends his hand out, fingers held out to help him to his feet.

That should have raised a _red flag_. The moment that is done, it’s like luring a moth to a flame. The movement is done within a blink of the eye, pulling his cousin into the river with him with a splash from the water. Shisui getting soaked much too quickly, and his laughter stops and he scowls at his younger cousin. His hair is clinging to his face as he takes his head out of the water. 

“How did I not think you weren’t going to do _that?_ ”  

There’s almost soft laughter that escapes his cousin. Itachi is biting back from laughing. “I was merely repaying the debt. Shisui.” He says with mirth of a grin, evidently amused by the whole ordeal. “Just think Kohona’s finest flicker-nin, thrown into a river by dumb luck by his own cousin. What would our clan _think?”_ The hint of the smile shows even more so it seems, the amusement written across his features.

Shisui scowls again, and shoves his cousin’s head under the water.

                                               Sometimes,

                                                           He wonders why he puts up with _Itachi._

But then again,

                   Perhaps it is the deemed facts, that both of them are better of around one another and can just be human, not shinobi. That is perhaps why when he lifts his cousin’s head out of the water despite his coughing that he smiles amused. Because really, Itachi is the only person that could get away with this or even make him feel remotely _normal_.

                             “What do you say, a dango,

                                                 and some wagashi would call us even,

                                                                                             and settle a truce?”

The smile that he receives in return perhaps reminds him why he puts up with his younger cousin. His fingers grabbing a hold of his cousin to help him to his feet in the river, making sure they don’t slip on the rocks, sometimes even forgetting that they are shinobi and could walk across it, and stumble out of the Naka river. Drenched but happy. 

“Done.”

              The smile that he receives from Shisui seems almost blinding, but nonetheless, the pair of boys find their way to a small tea shop. Despite the fact they’re soaked and chilled slightly, it doesn’t stop the smiles from coming to their faces, and just laughing in amusement from the whole ordeal.

Some things just never change.

                                         Just like the river’s flow,

                                                                         but that would change,

 later and be drenched in a color

                                 that would seem like the richest wine

                                                           but would make a **child’s** tongue dry _heave_.


End file.
